Alayne
by Shadowmancer1
Summary: Alayne knows that deep down inside her, Sansa is waiting to live once more. A drabble series about Alayne.
1. Alayne Dreams

**Alayne Dreams**

_Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire._

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He comes to her in a sea of fire, hellish and green. The blade in his hand is deadly sharp against her throat and his face is twisted, more terrible than ever, with rage and terror, but that isn't what frightens her. It is his eyes. She has always thought they were terrible and angry like raging storm clouds. They are worse than she has ever seen them. No matter how drunk or angry or cruel he was, she could always she a little of her protector in them.

Now he is gone, lost to anger and fear and drink. She is truly frightened of him. "Sing," he rasps and presses the blade closer to her throat. Something inside her breaks then. She had never thought he would hurt her, frighten her yes, but never hurt. He had protected her. She closes her eyes and waits for the inevitable sting of steel on flesh...

The heat of fire and stench of blood, old wine, and vomit are gone and in there place is the familiar scent of clean, summer snow and something so ancient and wild it can only be the Godswood at Winterfell.

She opens her eyes to the sight of the old Heart tree. It's face resembles a boy she once knew, a boy that is long dead.

"Sansa," he whispers as the blood-red leaves shake in the wind. "Sansa." His eyes weep blood. "Sansa."

But Sansa is gone. Only Alayne, a bastard girl is left. She runs, leaving the calls of "Sansa" far behind.

The snow gets deeper and deeper until she is waist deep and struggling to move without falling over. It is then she hears the laughter, it is the sweetest laugh, high-pitched and wild. It is the most beautiful sound she has ever heard.

When she sees the familiar unkempt, dark locks and a stained, muddy gown running towards her, she can't help but weep. Her tears have frozen by the time the girl reaches down to pull her out of the snow.

The girl laughs, her grey eyes wild and full of mischief. She says nothing, but beckons her to follow and takes off running through the snow. The girl changes as they run. Her hair grows shorter, her dress becomes a dirty shirt and trousers, and her laughter goes from happy to harsh and menacing until it stops all together. When they reach the entrance to the crypts, the girl is wearing clothes stained with blood and her grey eyes are cold and hard.

She longs to ask what happened to her, but the girl points down and then shoves her.

She is running past the Stark kings of old, something is chasing her, something large and terrifying. She can hear the clanking of its' armor as it chases her.

She runs past a man with the head of a wolf, a heavy crown of iron on his head. The last king in the North. He stands next to a man with no head, his ancient sword missing from his hands.

The clanking grows closer and she runs faster, past hundreds more Starks whose faces she doesn't know.

She sees an older version of the girl standing next to a man with a hundred gashes in him. Blood drips from his wounds and hisses. The girl wears blue roses in her hair and her eyes are sad. The man says, "Run." She does.

She leaves the crypts behind and begins the climb a great tower. The thing follows. She goes up, and up, and up until she is at the very top and there is nowhere to go but down.

The thing has caught up to her. It lifts up her visor and reveals nothing but thick, black smoke beneath.

"Sansa Stark," it says. It's voice is wet and it seems to slither through the air like the tongues of a thousand serpents.

"No," she tries to tell it. "I am Alayne Stone. Sansa Stark is gone."

"Sansa Stark," it repeats and then she is falling. Falling like Lysa once fell. Sansa's aunt Lysa. _Her _aunt Lysa.

She can hear of the anguished cry of a savage wolf mourning her death and the harsh, raspy voice of a man she once knew screaming, "No!"

Alayne wakes before she hits the ground, her breath coming in short gasps and her clothes soaked with sweat.

She washes the sweat from her skin, but the dream lingers on.

When her father garbs her in his sigil and looks at her so proudly, Alayne can only think that he is not her father.

A man had called Sansa little bird once. No matter how Alayne's father tries to cover it up in gowns and jewels bearing a mocking bird, Alayne knows Sansa is still there. She is both a bird and a wolf and nothing will change that.

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**A/N: **This is probably going to just be a series of drabbles exploring Sansa's Alayne persona. Mostly as a character study and mostly because I just find the concept of Alayne fascinating.


	2. Harry

**Harry**

_Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire._

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Harry the "heir" would have been Sansa's dream. He is handsome, even Alayne won't deny that when her father presses her for an opinion on the suitor that he is dangling in front of her. He is tall and lanky with blonde curls and a dimple in his right cheek. Alayne thinks his smile is his best feature, happy and honest and trustworthy. Like Sansa's before she was flung into a den of lions.

It is Harry's eyes that bother her. They are as green as emeralds and no smiles and laughs will ever change that. She avoids looking into his eyes. It is the only way Alayne can stop that shiver of disgust and fear.

When he kisses her, Alayne remembers lips like two fat worms from a life long since passed. She plays her shivers off as desire. She must play her part after all.

It is Sansa that dreams of different lips, scarred lips. Alayne whispers, "That never happened."

Yet, her dreams are filled with fire and blood and the scarred face of the Hound.


End file.
